Run
by Midnight Raine
Summary: A scene from Dave's past. He decides he's had enough of his father's abuse and decides to fight back... **CH 2 NOW UP** Carrie learns raising Dave is harder then she expected....
1. Default Chapter

"Run"Rated PG-13  
Part 1 of 1  
Summery: A scene from Dave's past. He's decided he's had enough of his father's abuse, and fights back...  
Song is Sympathetic Character by Alanis Morissette  
*  
"I was afraid you'd hit me if I'd spoken up  
I was afraid of your physical strength  
I was afraid you'd hit below the belt  
I was afraid of your sucker punch  
I was afraid of your reducing me  
I was afraid of your alcohol breath  
I was afraid of your complete disregard for me  
I was afraid of your temper  
I was afraid of handles being flown off of  
I was afraid of holes being punched into walls  
I was afraid of your testosterone  
I have as much rage as you have  
I have as much pain as you do  
I've lived as much hell as you have  
and I've kept mine bubbling under for you "  
_____________________________________  
There are some things you just know. Sometimes it's intuition, sometimes your life depends on it. It wasn't just the way the sky looked- at the moment it was a dying purplish orange color- that changed depending on the time of year. But somehow Dave knew that he'd be home soon.  
The Beast.  
The Evil One.  
His father.  
Dave shuddered, rubbing the bruises, still a fresh purple, the consequence of knocking over a can of beer yesterday night. Those were still nothing compared to the punishment he had gotten for failing 6th grade social studies...No food for a day.  
"He's on medication. He can study during lunch. Maybe that will help his grades," his father had told the nurse. His shirt was neatly pressed and his hair was slicked back. That wasn't what he was like at all. It was all some stupid act.  
Dave heard the jingle of the door opening. He could tell by how long it took his father to open it the man had found time to have a few drinks before he came home. *A few? The ol' man's probably good and loaded...*  
He curled himself into a protective ball on the couch, letting the book he was reading tumble to the floor. Dave inhaled deeply, noticing the couch smelled of alcohol. When mom was around the couch was white. 6 years of neglect had turned it a dingy gray. The walls and carpet ... both used to be bright and cheery. But that had died with his mother.  
Now the Evil One was inside, apparently cursing at something he had tripped over.  
*I'm asleep, I'm asleep...* The thought was frantic, repeating over and over, as he tried to convince himself. If the old man thought he was asleep, then maybe he'd get a break tonight.   
"Dammit Dave! Get your stuff off the floor!" He heard his father's drunken yelp and curled tighter into his defensive ball.  
___________________________  
I was afraid of verbal daggers  
I was afraid of the calm before the storm  
I was afraid for my own bones  
____________________________  
"Come here!"   
*Don't answer, don't answer...*  
"Dave! You lazy fuck! Come here!"  
_____________________________  
I was afraid of your coercion  
I was afraid of your rejection  
I was afraid of your intimidation  
I was afraid of your punishment  
_____________________________  
*I'm asleep---* And then he felt it. His neck snapped as his father pulled and in one quick motion he was on the floor, his balance and reflexes shattered. He panted and slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling about him. He watched as a tuft of his hair floated sluggishly to the ground. He could feel the dull ache in his skull.  
"Are you crying? Pussy!" screeched his father's accusing voice.   
*Why am I letting him do this to me... I can dodge him, I'm quick*  
Dave struggled to his feet, fire in his eyes as he stood up slowly. Then back on the floor, and he felt his father's lumbering hands smash into his stomach. He lost his balance and his head hit the coffee table, the sickening crunch of bone versus mahogany enough to make even the hardened drunk cringe the tiniest bit.  
His boy, his child, his responsibility was lying injured on the floor. Again.  
__________________________  
I was afraid of your icy silences  
I was afraid of your volume   
I was afraid of you manipulation  
I was afraid of your explosions  
_________________________  
The teenager gave a low moan, evoking sympathy from his father.  
"I hope you learned your lesson, you piece of shit." The man backed away awkwardly, not having a clear idea of what to say.  
Dave lay on the floor, trying to make sense of everything, and waiting for the pain to subside. It was as though he had been hit so hard his mind had been separated from his body. It was like he was watching himself on TV. It was surreal ... he could almost feel himself rise and walk over to his father and...  
Strangle him.  
*Why not? He does it to you. Doesn't he? What made it okay for him? * Logic and Hurt debated against Ethics. *What ever made it okay? *  
If he didn't do this, it would mean he was weak. Like his father always said he was. Somewhere in his body the adrenaline kicked in. The ache vanished and he rose from the floor. His dad was getting something out of the fridge, probably cereal. Neither of them could cook. They probably hadn't had a decent meal since his mom died...  
_______________________  
I have as much rage as you have  
I have as much pain as you do  
I've lived as much hell   
As you have  
And I've kept mine bubbling under for you  
________________________  
Dave tapped his father on the shoulder.  
"What?" he asked tiredly, his words slurred.  
And just like that Dave punched him in the jaw. The way his father screamed filled him with a sickening feeling of accomplishment, anger, anxiety, and regret... It was frightening, and almost addicting.  
*You've really done it this time, you're in for it*  
When his father looked at him with stunned eyes, Dave hit him again, this time in the stomach. Fear and bitterness rose in his throat, tears burned beneath his eyes. "How's it feel, bastard?"  
His father stumbled back for a moment, then jabbed his son in the eye. Dave was thrown off balance very easily, not expecting any retaliation. This time he managed to catch himself, though. The $20 dollars on the counter temporarily distracted him, but a slap on the cheek, curtesy of his father, redirected his attention. The older man attempted to punch him again, but Dave ducked. *I'm done for, I'm done for, oh God, he's gonna kill me this time...* The boy noticed there was a clear path to the door. He rushed to it, running so fast he almost slipped going around a corner.  
"Dave! Stop! Come back!" he could hear his father calling to him. Everything became surreal again. He didn't listen to the old man, and continued sprinting down the street. Then thin denim of his jeans flapped and his white cotton coat trailed behind him. He didn't stop, he didn't think, he didn't even bother to think about where he was going. Something inside him just told him to run. Run and not look back.  
_________________________  
He just kept walking. He knew he was going somewhere, he just wasn't aware yet. The streets seemed endless and inviting, almost comforting. Dave inhaled deeply. He used to notice the way the sunset smelled, when he was little. He pushed it out of his mind, because it sounded, well, odd. But not he was giddy like a child. He didn't have to go back now. He could just walk forever and disappear into the New York skyline. There were really no strings to tie him there anyhow, he figured as he kicked a half crushed soda can into an alley. He paused and wrote "DAVE" in the dust with his faded sneaker. He was 15 years old, he could take care of himself, find a job somewhere... He even noticed a pretty girl staring at him. He flashed a suave grin back, then realized that she was staring because his eye was most likely swelling like hell...  
He blushed and scurried off. Aunt Carrie lived around here. Look, there was the place where the hot-dog stand used to be. His aunt used to take him to the park and buy him hot dogs there, until she went vegetarian. And by now the vender, the old Hispanic man with the tobacco yellowed teeth, was probably long gone. As was Dave's confidence. The streets seemed menacing now, every turn seemed to be a wrong one. There was a shoddy white house, paint peeling and grass in dry, brown patches. The children were running around in the front yard, kicking up great clouds of dust as they chased each other in a game of tag.   
Dave pulled his jacket closer. The temperature had taken a sudden drop, and he began to walk a little bit faster. He came across a man who looked in his early 20s, his eyes glaring at him from under a lopsided baseball cap. *Maybe he's got a gun...* Dave chewed his thumbnail, imagining what it would feel like to have bullets tear into his flesh, his breath cut off as they ripped through his lungs, his blood spilling in widening pools on the sidewalk...  
Dave sprinted the next 3 blocks to his aunt's house.  
______________________________________________  
Caroline Malucci looked at her nephew with concerned eyes.  
"No. I'm fine." His voice was small as he looked around the room. Cows. Everywhere. It was what his aunt collected. A wooden cow with the legs dangling off the TV, an assorted collection of ceramic cows in the cabinet... Even the black and white cow, now more of a rug then anything else, was named Moo.   
Dave chose to poke at the cold meatloaf in front of him. He ate a tiny bite just to be polite, even though his stomach threatened to reject anything that came it's way.  
"I know I've asked you this before, and you haven't answered yet, so ... why are you here? Why'd you just take off, spur of the moment, and wind up here?"  
He only answered with silence, not even bothering to look at her. She sighed.  
After a while he spoke again. "Remember when I was little and mom used to pick me up from school early, and we'd come here and drive for an hour and go sledding? And I hit the tree and mom was convinced I was dying and we never went again?" He was smiling sadly.  
"Yeah, now that I think about it, I do." He said nothing, just returned to his little reverie. There seemed to be no purpose to his remark, no amusing anecdote, it was just there. Then she knew why.  
"I miss her."  
The teenager gave a little scoff, but the smile never left his lips. "You're not the only one."  
Carrie looked at him harder this time. His clothes were crumpled and stained, and had holes in places. She could see bruises on his arms that she, as a nurse, knew couldn't have come from any accident. Dave was pale and skinny, almost sickly. And of course his black eye.  
"Did you get in a fight with someone?"  
There was a loud clink as his fork dropped to the floor. But no answer.  
"David..."  
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "My name is Dave." That's what his mom used to call him.   
"But did you?"  
"Shut up."  
"David Norquest, don't talk to me like that..."  
"It's Malucci!" he yelled suddenly. "I don't want to have that bastard's name!"  
"Malucci..." she repeated. "Like your mother."  
"And like you," he whispered.  
She sighed again. "Well, Dave Malucci, I think I should call your father now."  
"Don't."  
"Why not?"  
"Please don't."  
"Look, if you can give me a good reason..."  
"It's because he's probably passed out somewhere," remarked the boy bluntly.  
"Oh. I see," she answered, not quite knowing how to reply. "I'll check anyway. I think he deserves to know you're alive."  
"He probably doesn't care," he said, shrugging. "Can I spend the night here?"  
"I suppose..."  
"Okay. Goodnight. I'm going to bed."  
"Wait, don't you want some aspirin or something for your face?" Carrie asked, picking up the phone.  
"No. Goodnight."  
"Goodnight," she echoed, then dialed the number. She tapped her foot patiently, waiting for the man to pick up.  
"Y'low?"   
His voice was slurred, but that could just be from sleep. It was, after all, around 10 PM.  
"Hi. It's me, Carrie. Did you know that Dave is here right now?"  
"Huh-uh. Why?" *Voice still slurred, not a good sign*  
"Were you even aware he was gone?"  
"Yeah."  
"And you're not worried?"  
"I fell a'sleep..."  
"Okay, well, did you know he has bruises on his arms?"  
No answer.  
"Did you?" she asked again.  
"Kid's clumsy."  
"Oh, this is more then clumsiness, Jacob."  
"He misbehaves. He's a troublemaker. You would do the same thing," answered the man, starting to give in.  
"Is that what you do?" she stated in disbelief. "Whenever he does something wrong, you whip out a belt, or a baseball bat, or what-have-you?"  
"No, only when he's horribly bad."  
"Which is when?" she spat.  
No answer, just nervous breathing at the other end.  
"David doesn't wanna go back, and I don't think I'm gonna stop him."  
"Fine! Take the little bastard!" the man roared, angry now.  
"Is that what you call your son? If Maria were alive right now..."  
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT MY WIFE WOULD THINK! You know she'd be alive today if she hadn't refused treatment."  
"That was her decision, ever think about why?"  
Jacob gasped angrily. "Are you suggesting I beat her? I loved---love my wife and I would never hurt her!"  
"Yeah, but you don't think twice about killing something she loved more then herself." Carrie hung up the phone and leaned up against the wall. She definitely didn't want David going back there. But taking care of a child... But he wasn't a child. How could he go through that and be called a child? He could take care of himself, she could leave him alone after school and trust him not to burn the house down. She worked at a private practice now, not an emergency room. She'd be home by 5. She could do this. She tiptoed into the guest bedroom. "I know you're awake. You were probably eavesdropping too."  
He had been, a little, but he wasn't able to make out much. "No ... bastard... Maria ... whip..." That was all he had heard.   
"You probably eavesdropped, Dave," she repeated. "That was what your mother used to do."  
Yes, but his mother's life wasn't what he wanted to find out about right now.  
"Do I have to go back?" he asked. That was the question that had been consuming him all evening.  
"No. I wouldn't do that. You're staying here."  
And that answer was fine by him.  
____________________________________  
Finished Oct. 7th, at 9:00 PM  
Flames? I can take 'em  
Comments? Love 'em  
Send it all to Misscaran@aol.com  
And oh yeah, save Dave.   
http://www.vanessaonline.com/saveerik.htm  
  
  
  
  



	2. Hopeless

"Hopeless"  
Follows "Run"  
After he runs away from his father, Carrie finds raising young Dave more of a challenge then she expected.  
PG-13  
Disclaimer: Don't sue, that makes me a *saaaad* panda.  
Lyrics: "Unkind" by Tabitha's Secret (it's sort of an early version of Matchbox 20, same guy singing and writing the song, ect)  
Spoilers: None  
Ramblings: Wow... You wanted another sequel, so I wrote one... Sorry if I was a little slow, in short I've had to practice for the variety show, so my friends and I can embarrass ourselves with a little ditty I like to call "The Fancy Pants Song". Then I wrote a slash fic for Lord of the Rings. (Oh don't act so shocked).   
Anyway... You like me, you really like me. *wipes tear away from eye* Thank yous go out to Jacinda, She Devil, Anger Towards Society, and everyone I can't remember at this moment, for giving me ideas. So anyway, um, I hope this fic doesn't disappoint you, and I wasn't too slow.   
Finally, one last note, there's a time lapse in here somewhere... try and guess where it is. (Hint: It takes place before Dave goes to see Sister Nina)  
_______________________________  
Bring it on baby, whatcha getting into?  
Is living on pain the thing that's getting to you?  
You can write my name, pin it up my picture  
And say it's the only thing, cuz I'm not around to be around  
____________________________  
~*Memory*~  
"Please tell me again why I have to dress like this?" Dave spun around, dodging his aunt who was trying to perform an amazing feat: trying to tame his bed hair with a flimsy plastic comb and ordinary tap water.  
"Catholic school. Dress code, kiddo," Carrie answered, speaking in fragments like she usually did when she was preoccupied.  
"Mind telling my why I have to switch schools in the first place?"  
"It's close, it's cheap, it's nice. Your old school is an hour away, not counting morning traffic and afternoon rush."  
"So from now on, every day, the only thing I'll wear is a blue shirt and khaki pants?"  
"Or navy blue pants and a white shirt when you feeling festive. Which reminds me, I have to stop by your dad's to pick up some of your clothes. Are they all as beat up the ones you were wearing?"  
Dave shrugged. "I'm not coming, though."  
"I was planning to do this while you were in school, anyway."  
He looking in the mirror, staring into his eyes while his nervous aunt smoothed his shirt and pants. He shuddered; he didn't look like himself at all. Very nerdy.  
"I'm not even Catholic."  
"Yes you are."  
"I can't run in these shoes."  
"Why would you need to run?"  
"This shirt is too tight."  
His aunt stepped back and laughed. "Not much of a morning person, are you, David?"  
"Dave."  
"David."  
"Dave."  
"Whatever." He couldn't help but smile. "Give this to, uh, who is it they want you to go to?"   
"Sister Ursula?"  
"Yeah, one of the nuns. It's a card with emergency information." She walked to the back of her room, where her desk was. Under a pile of unfinished tax returns and forlorn memos, she managed to dig up a small white slip.  
Dave grabbed it and inspected her handiwork. "Why is Dad's number on it?"  
Carrie's face fell and she gently set her coffee down.  
"Well, they request two emergency phone numbers."  
"So why'd you put his?" Dave asked, anger rising in his voice.  
"If something happens to you, he has a right to know."  
"I told you before, he doesn't care about me."  
_____________________________  
I'm beaten and battered and if my dreams get shattered then  
Pain gives me the right to be unkind  
_____________________________  
Carrie bit her lip and placed one hand on her hip. "Tell you what, we're leaving in oh, say, fifteen minutes. I'll give you 'til then to find a substitute."  
"Grandma?"  
"Grandma lives in Albany, honey."  
"Okay... What about Ted?"  
She chewed her lip. "I'd feel uncomfortable, he's my boyfriend. You've only met him twice."  
Dave thought for a moment, drumming his stubby fingernails on the table. "Can we just put one number?"  
"No, because sometimes I moonlight in the emergency room. And when that happens I'm practically unreachable."  
Dave sighed. "Fine then," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, and not loud enough to admit to himself that he had been defeated.  
*~End Memory~*  
_____________________________  
Bring it on baby, with sudden devotion  
I'd trade a river of tears for just a little emotion  
____________________________  
"Hey you, kid who never talks!"   
The angry words of the team captain caused his train of thought to disintegrate.  
"That ball was yours!"   
He nodded, and resumed playing his half awake game of defense. Jesus, it was cold out. The October had been unusually chilly, and instead of resuming their soccer tournaments inside, the gym teachers were convinced a little cold would do them good, and the students were told to bring their coats outside with them. The morning class got to stay inside. Lucky.  
Yet watching a soccer ball fly back and forth across a muddy field made him sleepy somehow. What was he doing before Mitch yelled at him? Thinking about how he got here. Maybe he should have stayed with his dad. Shut up and swallowed his beating like a good little boy. It was a nice alternative to being shunned and tormented here. At home, he'd only have to put up with it for a little while, for a few hours, a few insults, a few bruises, instead of for eight hours with his fellow classmates. His grades still sucked, but at least he had friends back home. His father would only demand he keep quiet and stay locked in his room, but there always seemed to be something wrong with him here at school.   
Thus it was best not to allow anything to *be* wrong.   
So he shut his mouth.   
A sharp whistle cut through the morning air, and his team marched back inside the building.   
"We lost again, Malucci." Some girl who was on his soccer team, calling him by what was written on his gym shirt. Most likely she had never bothered to learn his first name. "You realize we'd do better if we didn't have a walking cadaver on defense."   
He hung his head.  
*Just two more classes, a few more hours...*  
___________________________   
You can curse my name, pin it up my picture  
And say it's the last time I'll be around, be around  
____________________________  
He walked aimlessly down the halls, toward the direction of the library. He chose to sit at his usual secluded table, away from all the other Study Hall kids.  
He took out a notebook, staring at a blank page. Everyone thought he was working on something important and didn't bother him. In actuality, he was drawing a flower pot.  
"Can I sit here?"  
Dave looked up. In front of him stood a short, freckled redheaded boy, who was smiling apologetically.  
"All the other seats are taken."  
Dave shrugged.  
"I'm Peter. You're that kid who never talks. David something or another, right? I remember now."  
Dave went back to his drawing, and Peter craned his neck.  
"Do you like to draw?"  
He shrugged again.  
"There are a lot of doodles on your notebook."  
"..."  
"I swear to God, you're impossible. Can you *not* talk at all, or do you just not want to?"  
Dave flipped to a fresh page in his notebook, scribbling his answer down. *Don't want to*  
"Why not?"  
*Don't feel like it*  
"Why not?"  
He hesitated. *no one to talk with*  
"Do you talk at home, then?"  
*Yes. To the cat, mostly*  
Peter smiled. "What does he say?"  
*not much. SHE's not much of a talker*  
"I can see where you have so much in common."  
*Not funny*  
"Sorry." Peter said uncomfortably, going back to his homework.  
Dave sighed wistfully, staring out the window. The bare skeletons of the trees stretched against the gray October sky. Little droplets of water fell to the window sill.   
Dave took a deep breath, licked his lips, and began slowly:   
"Hey look. It's raining."  
____________________________  
Oh well I'm torn and tattered  
So the thoughts in my head, they get scattered  
____________________________  
He trudged up the stairs to his aunt's apartment, reaching deep in the pockets of his pants for the key. The carpet was a dingy gray-brown, and the windows were covered with yellowed lace. There was even a crack in the wall where the rotted wood had finally given way, big enough for him to stick a bony fist through.   
Inside of Carrie's apartment, it was still freezing, but at least the stench of decaying building was gone. Dave pulled a quilt around him and switched on the space heater, waiting for it to heat up the room.   
He unpacked a dirty math book from his book bag and chewed on the eraser to his pencil. He hadn't even bothered to take off his coat.  
"Hey Dave. How long have you been here?" asked his aunt quietly. "Let's get some more light in here. You wanna ruin your eyes?" She looked tired, washed out... gray. Lacking somehow. She looked away from him, staring at the dirty window with a wistful look in her eyes. Her face was frozen in a half grimace.  
"So how's Dad?"   
"Huh?" Soft confusion.  
"I know you saw him today. You said you were going to pick my stuff up."  
"He's gone," she said, her voice a strained whisper.  
"What?"  
"Sweet heart, he's just..." she shook her head, strands of black hair coming undone from her loose ponytail. "I went to his apartment, the door was unlocked, and Dave, I'm telling you, there was nothing there. Just some old furniture and your clothes packed in a box. That was it."  
Dave edged closer to her, and she placed her arm around his shoulder, bringing him near.  
She sighed sadly. "I just wish I knew what I did wrong."  
______________________________  
Pain gives me the right to be unkind...  
  
(And it sets me here)  
______________________________  
The guidance office was a dead zone. Oh sure, they tried to conceal it with brightly colored pictures, but somehow those just made it seem all the more unnerving. It was one big cold spot. The vents that were supposed to pump in fresh air brought in the frigid temperatures as an added bonus. And in the spring, nothing said comfort like the hum of an overworked air conditioner, positioned almost directly behind the office. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.  
Rumor had it this used to be a closet.  
Dave fidgeted in the stiff leather chair, and it made a crackling noise that seemed to boom across the already tense room. He coughed politely as Sister Nina gave him an incredibly wise (and equally fake) grin.  
"So, David..." she paused as if to remember his name. "Can you tell me why you're here?"  
His eyes flashed and he dared not move a muscle. She stared down at him with the anticipation of a snake hunting her prey.  
"Take your time. No hurry."  
Fine. She had the whole day, he'd give her the whole day. The staring contest had only just begun.  
"Or you can come in after school. You don't even have to talk, you can just, uh, wash desks." She picked up a trinket from her desk, a small, ceramic Jesus, inspected it, then placed it back down with spidery fingers. Her attitude was like that of a chess champion placing the winning move.  
"Checkmate," she seemed to say.  
"Checkmate," agreed the Baby Jesus.  
He had no choice. "I got in a fight."  
"About what?" she asked, dragging out the words.  
"About whether or not to call a foul."  
"Can you tell me what happened from there?" she flipped through a clipboard, which probably contained information about him, report cards, permanent record, ect. She did so with such nonchalant-ness it made him want to strangle her.  
"It got physical," he shrugged.  
"Mm hm... why?"   
"Because Dan Bollen is a jerk."  
"I can tell we've made real progress--"  
"He wouldn't listen! He knows that I blocked the ball with my hands so it wouldn't hit my face! He's just upset because he's losing!"   
"But what could posses you to strike him?"  
"He wasn't listening!"  
"So you hit him." Silence. "I think, David, as one gets older, they learn others are often biased to their own opinions. But tell me about yourself."  
He stared at the woman in front of him for a moment. Her hawk eyes peered out at him from under her frizzy, chestnut brown bangs. The rest of her hair was stuck in a puffy clump running down her back. Carefree attitudes were left at the door here, only the hopeless entered this room. Sister Nina wasn't joking.  
"What are your goals for the future? Sooner or later you'll be out of this place.  
"Med school, maybe. Possibly cancer research, emergency medicine..."  
"You'll have to work harder, you know. Your records from your other school say that you're a C and D student, with one A in Foreign Language. Honestly, it's less then impressing."  
"I'm doing this better this year, though." The freedom from nervous tension had done wonders for his mind. Ever since his conversation with Peter in the library he had been talking more, and had found everyone dropped their snobbish attitudes for amazement. Dave had a voice. He could talk. He was funny. Things got better. "Is my progress report in there? I'm getting an A in biology and the lowest grade I have is a C in Lit, which I'm doing extra credit for," he said proudly. *Check*  
She shook her head. "Do you know what the penalty for fighting is?  
"I didn't start it--"  
"Doesn't matter. Guess."  
"Detention?" he asked hopefully.  
"No. Suspension." She sat back, letting the words hang in the air. "Out of School Suspension. That's work that you can't make up, David."  
He let his jaw go slack. She got up from the chair and moved toward him.  
"Two days, effective immediately. I called your aunt to have her pick you up."  
He was still dumbstruck as she gently shooed him out the door.  
"And you seemed like such a *nice* boy."  
______________________________  
Right back to the heart of it  
Joan's crazy is a slight defense from it  
Joan's crazy is a place I call my own  
When I'm alone  
______________________________  
The dismal silence of Sister Nina's office was nothing compared to the car ride home.  
"If I hear one word out of you, one word, David Alexander," his aunt said in a low, warning growl. He sank into the back of the car, pressing himself into the seat as much as possible. He honestly believed if he said a word she'd slap him.  
It seemed no place was home now. Certainly not with his father and Carrie was letting her evil side show through. But his mother couldn't have been the only one ever to care for him, could she?  
"I thought I taught you better then that!" Carrie muttered once they had arrived home. "Didn't I teach you better then that? Do you want to become your father? A low life boozer with no sense of empathy? I was good to you! I fed you and gave you shelter and a place to live! And you get suspended over a goddamn *football game*!" She threw up her hands in disgust.  
"Soccer."  
"I don't care!" she yelled, her angry words striking down his feeble correction. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stopped. Her expression changed, and she looked as though she could break into tears.   
"Please. Go to your room now."   
_______________________________  
Bring it on baby, whatcha getting in to?  
I swear once it was the little things that mattered, but it all seems true to you  
_______________________________  
~*~Memory~*~  
She always liked to clean on Thursdays.   
Dave couldn't remember why it was always this day his mother chose to clean things, but probably because Carrie came over to visit on Fridays and Saturday was their only day to relax. It was also convenient because his mother only had to work a half day on Fridays.  
She was a prodigy on the piano, but they couldn't fit one in their apartment, much less get it up the stairs, but she still played guitar. She sang like an angel in the church choir, her rich soprano voice rising above the others and to the heavens.  
She liked to sing along to the radio when she washed dishes. And she smelled like clean laundry. Always.  
But his mother's memorable traits were nothing now.  
It didn't matter any more whether the house was cleaned on Friday or Saturday or never at all. Carrie never bothered to drop by anymore.  
And, Dave supposed, it hadn't mattered to begin with whether or not his mother was there to sing along to the radio. The neighbors always complained about the noise, anyhow.  
But while it lasted, it was pleasant.  
~*~End Memory~*~  
_______________________________  
Say the hell with my name, and say the hell with my picture  
Yeah, but swear  
For one time you need me around to be around   
I'm around right now  
______________________________  
He ran into his room, burying his face in his pillow. Carrie had given him a place to stay and look what he'd done. Why couldn't he just stay out of trouble? *Stupid, stupid, stupid* circled in his head a thousand times.   
The guilt felt like it was crushing him, so he lay still on top of his unmade bed until he fell into a light, dreamless sleep.  
______________________________  
And here I'll stand like it matters  
Only once gets through, then it gets scattered by the rain  
Pain gives me the right to be unkind  
______________________________  
~*~Memory~*~  
His mother was making the bed, so it was probably morning. The clean sunlight streamed into the otherwise unlit room, making it homely and comforting. It was sparcely furnished, with only a wooden twin bed, a dresser, and a large mirror by the door. Also, a framed "Lord's Prayer" decorated the wall above the bed. A toy truck and some children's books dotted the threadbare rug. The clean, white sheets in her hand gave away the fact it was Thursday, in addition to matching the white, cracked paint.  
He was lying on the sheetless bed, he must have been, oh, five or six.  
She was fingering the worn cloths, her delicate fingers tracing the spaces where holes were forming and the thread was giving way. She bit her lip anxiously, a bad habit of hers. Her family had never really had a lot of money, but they always managed to get by.  
"Sweetie, get off the bed." He was always 'sweetie' to her, never David.  
"I'm sleepy."  
"Please?" she asked wearily.  
No answer.  
"Fine then. Stay there." She smiled through her silent pain, revealing a space between her two front teeth. She threw a sheet over the bed, letting it float down, covering her son completely. "Hmm... where could he be?" she asked, faking confusion.  
  
Then the room seemed to spin. The tired brown of the floor mixing with the white walls and the bits of sky the windows let in. She couldn't keep her balance, and she sank to her knees on the floor as her head spun controllably. She clutched her laundry to her chest for dear life.  
"Mama?" he crept to the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?  
"I'm... I'm fine." She steadied herself on his dresser.  
He knew her well enough not to believe.  
_____________________________  
Right back to the heart of it  
Joan's crazy is a slight defense from it  
Joan's crazy is a place I call my own   
When I'm alone...  
_______________________________  
"Hey." His aunt's soft voice broke through the hazy memory and it faded back into the cold bedroom. Carrie flicked on the light with a soft tapping sound. "I just came to apologize for what I said before."  
"I deserved it."  
"What you did was wrong, but I had no right to act that way." She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Just for the record, I see more of Maria in you then your father."  
"Hmm?" he said lazily.  
"She was amazing. She had this, this *radiance* that I see in you. Whenever she entered a room, the mood lightened. In high school she was the girl all the guys wanted to date. She was beautiful, intelligent. And believe it or not, I see a lot of that in you."  
"Do I look like her?"  
"More so every day." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "I see a lot of your father's qualities, too."  
"Like how?" he asked uncomfortably.  
"You have his tendency to make rash decisions. Your mom was soft spoken, she thought before she said anything. She could be humble, too, but that didn't show through as much. You're rebellious, like your father. You've got his sense of humor. I'm not saying you'll end up like him, though. I hope to God you don't."  
He nodded.  
"What I'm saying isn't a bad thing. Don't fight who you are, don't run from what happened."  
He took a deep breath and spoke. "Why didn't she treat her leukemia?"  
"They couldn't."  
"But dad said..."  
"First off, it was a rare cancer. 'Hairy cell leukemia', I think. It took her doctor forever to catch it because it usually effects middle aged men, not young women, and of course, Maria didn't want to complain. The drug was experimental, as a last resort. It was a new drug, really bad side effects and a small success rate. Maria knew she was going to die. She didn't want to draw out her suffering."  
He sat in thought, letting the wise words of his aunt sink in.   
"I have her wedding picture in my wallet, if you're interested."  
"I think her wedding is the last thing I want to think about."  
Carrie sighed. "I suppose what brought you here, in a way, almost killed you." She took out a faded leather wallet. "I keep it with me all the time, so I don't forget. Sometimes I just need reassurance that she'll never leave me, and all I have to do is pull this out of my pocket, and I know she never will."  
Dave sat knowingly in the quiet, agreeing with everything his aunt had to say.  
_______________________________  
Flames? I can take 'em.  
Comments? I love 'em.  
Send it all to misscaran@aol.com 


End file.
